The Prelude (A Musical Interlude Novel) - By Kasonndra Leigh Page 0,4

name,” I remind him. He shrugs and smirks. “Never mind, we have a serious problem. I need to know what happened here.” I hold up the two lime green dresses for him to see. He gives me an ‘O’ face and then covers his mouth. It amazes me how well he can go from primal animal to dangerously feminine. And he never loses sight of what he truly is a man who loves to have a lot of sex.

He snatches one of the dresses from my hands. A string of Italian curse words flows off of his lips. “I swear to you, my love, I did not order these—these hideous colors.”

“Luca, just save the sweet talk. La Scala’s assistant director is on his way over here to check on our progress. And guess what? We don’t have shit to show for it.”

“I’ll make some phone calls, right away.” Luca takes the dresses and heads toward his office in the back. “You handle the assistant.” He slams the door behind him.

“What the fuck? Luca!” I trudge toward the front of the shop, my mind racing.

“Signora Angelo, I’m sorry. I meant to say, Erin,” Carla begins and then screws up her face as she points behind me. Every muscle in my body tightens up. I can feel him approaching us before I even glance back.

Slowly, I turn around and find myself less than ten feet away from a man who can only be the poster guy of everything hip and sensual. My breath hitches in my throat. The assistant has let himself into the shop. My gaze drinks all of him in. His tanned arms are crossed. Broad shoulders are perfect on his six foot plus tall frame that looms over my five foot six one. I guess that’s not saying much, though. He wears black jeans and a white shirt rolled up to his elbows. I’m almost afraid to keep going, but I do. My eyes land on his face next. And let me tell you, I’m not an OMG girl, but damn!

The Adonis standing before me is dark-haired. Call me crazy, but his wavy locks really do make me think of chocolate, a dark and luscious flavor. The sides are tapered, but the top is just the tiniest bit unruly. He doesn’t look like the overly macho kind of Marlon Brando handsome, but he has the type of gaze that penetrates you to the core, reading your secrets even when you think they’re well hidden. And those lips, that mouth—a sensual creation that’s part pout, but mostly a heart-shaped ode to sex.

Oh My God, no wait, Holy hell! I glance at Carla who stares at him too, her mouth hanging wide open.

“I assume you have the initial designs ready?” he says in an unfamiliar accent. He doesn’t waste any time with introductions. It’s all business with this man. If all opera house assistants look like this guy, then I’m obviously in the wrong business.

Think, Erin. What will you tell him? I’m going to kill Romeo, aka Luca if I make it through this moment.

I turn on the brightest smile I can muster as I try to hold back a tingle in my throat and the increasing pressure in my chest. “Hi! I’m Erin Angelo.” I move toward him, holding out my hand for him to take. He frowns, steps around me, and glances around the shop. “Where’s Martuccio?”

The pressure in my chest worsens. I make a few tiny coughs to try and kill it. Please, don’t do this to me right now. “He’s taking a call. Carla, why don’t you go check and see if he’s ready for us.”

“Yes! I can do that,” she says and scurries away leaving me to pass the time with an annoyed assistant.

“While we wait for Signor Martuccio, why don’t you have a look at my portfolio. All of the designs are in there,” I say and tuck in the right side of my lower lip as I move toward my office, a converted closet in back of the building. Inside the box of a room, I’m aware of his smoldering presence even more now. He narrows his eyes at my nervous gestures. Crap! He’s annoyed. And I can’t decide whether it’s because he knows I’m stalling or if my lip biting bothers him.

I pull out my look book, a designer’s business card and hand it to him. With a serious expression, he opens the book and flips through the pages. The corner of his